When the algorithm of your life chooses to show you exactly how much rejection you can take before you break.
Spoiler alert: I haven’t found my limit yet.
But I’m getting close.
42
Jess
Ben and I are sitting at the kitchen island with crayons and shape-tracing pages spread out before us. Frederick is propped beside us.
“Can you color the circle red for me?” I ask.
Ben stares at the page. Her crayon hovers over the circle, but her bottom lip trembles.
Finally she colors it.
Stays mostly inside the lines.
“That’s right.” I try to high-five her. She barely lifts her hand.
My phone buzzes.
“It’s Dr. Hale,” I tell Ben. Our therapist. “Time for our daily chat.”
The five-year-old immediately looks away.
I accept the FaceTime call.
Dr. Hale appears on screen. “How are we doing today?” she asks cheerily.
I purse my lips. “Doing well, I suppose. Just working on shapes and colors together.”
Beside me Ben’s face crumbles. Tears start streaming.
Okay so maybe not well.
Dr. Hale guides us through breathing exercises. One, two, three. The same ones I taught Ben before the attack. The same ones that barely seem to do a thing these days. I squeeze Ben’s fingers with each breath.
“Ben,” Dr. Hale says gently. “Can you tell me three things you can see right now?”
Ben sniffles. Finally looks around the kitchen. “Frederick. My crayon. The... circle I colored. And Jess.”
“Good.” Technically that was four things, but neither Dr. Hale nor I comment.
“Now name two things nearby you can touch,” Dr. Hale says.
Ben’s hand finds mine. Squeezes. “Jess’s hand. And the table.”
“And now name one thing nearby that makes you feel safe,” Dr. Hale says.
Ben’s eyes drift from Frederick, to me. She looks at me with such innocence I could cry.
“Jess,” Ben says. “She makes me feel safe.”
My throat goes tight.
You make me feel safe, too,I want to tell her.Complete.
